


The Viscount’s "Horny" Bodyguard

by whereismywarden (PearOh)



Series: Dragon Age - Inquisitor Asaara Adaar - Second Chances Worldstate [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (it cuts before the actual smut but there are a few sexy bits before then), (probably), Bad Puns, Bodyguard, Comfort, F/M, Non-Inquisitor Adaar, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Sexual Content, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearOh/pseuds/whereismywarden
Summary: Issala Adaar, the Inquisitor's sister, wakes up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. Thankfully, her lover hasn't gone far.
Relationships: Female Adaar/Varric Tethras
Series: Dragon Age - Inquisitor Asaara Adaar - Second Chances Worldstate [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475348
Kudos: 13
Collections: Second Chances Worldstate





	The Viscount’s "Horny" Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> I found this old thing in my WIPs folder and decided to finish it. Enjoy!

Issala woke up in the middle of the night, the empty space beside her feeling cold. It wouldn’t be the first time a lover had sneaked away while she slept, but she had not expected _him_ to be like that. As conniving as he could be sometimes, he was still a good man. Then she heard the scrapping of a quill against parchment.

She rose onto her elbows and looked around the room. There he was, sitting at the desk, still completely naked, his glorious chest hair shining in the candle’s light, scribbling notes in a journal like his life depended on it. Issala slumped back into the bed, not wanting to bother him while he was working. The writing, however, stopped as soon as her head hit the pillow.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know,” Varric chuckled from behind the desk.

“I didn’t want to distract you from your work.”

“If I didn’t want any distraction, I would have left the room,” he said, resuming his writing. “Even asleep, your mere presence in this bed is distracting enough, my dear Firework. The way your bosom lifts up and down as you breathe…” His voice trailed off as he lost himself in his thoughts.

“Is that how you’re going to describe me in your book? ‘ _The mercenary's ample bosom_ ’?

“Actually, I was thinking more something along the lines of ‘ _ **divine** bosom_’.”

She filled the room with her bright laugh, her large breasts jiggling under the thin bedsheet. “The Chantry will love that, I’m sure.”

The phrase would have no doubt drawn a lot more fire had it described the Inquisitor instead of Issala. But she had come under the Chantry's scrutiny too some time ago after they had discovered that she was the mighty Herald's sister. They didn't hold her to the same standards as Asaara of course, but she hadn't made any friends among them with her reckless antics. Or among the City Guard for that matter. It was a miracle she'd been allowed to remain Varric's personal bodyguard for as long as she had. Or perhaps the position, as prestigious as it was, was just an excuse to keep her in check and prevent her from causing too much destruction around the city.

“The Chantry condemned my work a long time ago. Talking about the size of your breasts or the endless length of your legs isn’t going to make them like me any less.”

“I thought you said my legs were the perfect length.”

“They are,” he said as he went back to his notes. “Or maybe I’m the one who’s perfectly sized.”

“That you are,” she sighed as she lied back down.

He'd proven how perfectly he fit between her legs more than once last night… How his face had been at exactly the right height to pleasure her with his mouth as she'd stood naked in front of him… 

She bit on her lower lip, the memories of their night together enough to stroke the fire within her. _Vashedan!_ She needed to change the subject before she became unbearably frustrated by the empty space in their bed.

“Varric?”

“Hmm…”

“Could you…” A sudden flush of heat crept up her cheeks. “Could you make me look more impressive than I actually am?”

Not that she believed he would think she was a bad lover. But it wasn't just about the sex. Compared to her more famous sister, Issala hadn't really amounted to anything yet. She was as average as average could get amongst her Vashoth brethren. She didn't have Asaara's magic skills or the qualities that made her a respected leader. Her talent with explosives was about the only thing she could say she was, without a doubt, good at. And even _that_ wasn't considered a good thing. 

She'd started tinkering with traps and chemicals as a teenager in an attempt to get on the same level of powers as her mage sister but that small success had backfired spectacularly when she had inadvertently set one of the charges off. The ensuing explosion had left her with a broken horn and a burn scar that ran up her right arm to the lower part of her face.

Varric let out a brief snort before realizing that she wasn't laughing with him. “Wait, you’re serious?” His face softened. “I actually have to tonedown most of your exploits, else people will never believe them.”

“Really?”

“Should I remind you how you almost single-handedly cleared the Gallows of whatever demons had decided to call it home? Everyone else in the city, including the damned Templars, was scared shitless of the place, but you went in there and returned a few hours later looking like you'd just gone on a peaceful stroll. Your sister couldn't have done a better job, I can assure you.”

“I blew up half the place, Varric — half of whatever was still standing anyway.”

“What I'm trying to say is, you're a spectacular woman in areas other than in the sheets, Firework.”

“I suppose you make a good argument.”

“Trust me, you're impressive enough on your own. Why you would think otherwise is beyond my comprehension.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed by her previous lack of confidence. “Growing up, I've always been the smallest kid and the sweetest one. My sister would constantly tease me about it. And now that she's the Inquisitor…”

“Forgive me if I have a hard time thinking of you as ‘small’.” He offered her a warm, reassuring smile. “But trust me when I tell you, your soft heart is what will make people love you, not your crazy antics.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say it.”

“Don't mention it.”

Silence filled the room as Varric went back to work, his quill scratching the parchment vigorously. Issala watched him scan the words he'd already scribbled down, a frown settling on his face as concentration overtook him.

He started munching on the tip of his quill, the crease between his brows deepening. “ _The tall beauty…_ No, too cliché,” he mumbled, more to himself than for her own benefit. “ _His passionate paramour?_ ” He let out a frustrated groan.

“How about ‘ _the Viscount’s **horny** bodyguard_’?” she suggested, no longer able to hide the fact that she craved his touch.

“Too tacky.” He looked up from his journal to peer at the gorgeous woman lying in bed in front of him. The sheet had fallen to her hips, revealing her lovely pair of firm, round breasts. Distractingly divine indeed. “Patience, my Lady. I’m almost done.”

“You’re working very late tonight, my little man.”

“That’s the challenging everyday life of an author, I’m afraid. Inspiration always strikes you at the most inopportune times.”

“Lucky for me, it didn’t strike you earlier, while you were exploring my Deep Roads.”

Varric snorted, probably thinking _‘Thank the Maker she's not a writer!’_ Little did he know that she had tried her hand at writing a novel once, many years ago. She had even gone so far as to publish it under a pen name, Philippe Dupuis, thinking people would take her work more seriously if they believed it written by a human man. She'd based the story on one of her sister's adventures since her own mercenary work wasn't nearly as exciting. Unfortunately, it hadn't sold well, and that had spelled the end of her writing career.

“Who says it didn’t?” he teased her.

Issala looked at him. She studied him for a while, trying to figure out whether he was serious or not.

“No,” she concluded. “You make that face when you’ve got an itch to write.” She put on an exaggerated frown and pursed her lips.

“I didn't know you could see my face from way up there while I was…” He marked a pause for dramatic effect. “Busy down there.”

She stuck her tongue out to him, her face turning into a pout. He stuck his tongue back at her, albeit in a more suggestive manner.

She snorted. “And I'm the tacky one?”

Varric grinned. Setting down his quill, he rose from his chair and walked up to her, his body visibly aching for her as much as hers did for him. He then practically jumped onto the bed, swiftly slipping under the covers as Issala started shaking with anticipation.

His lips met hers with a fiery kiss, slowly turning her into a puddle of soft, passionate moans. They let their hands roam over each other — caressing, grabbing, fondling, squeezing… clinging to each other like two halves of one person, bodies melting together in heated passion to be one again.

“My Lady,” he whispered between kisses, his voice sultry and full of yearning.

She ran her fingers down his chest, relishing in the softness of his hair. “My Lord,” she purred in return.

He kissed her again before pulling away from her to adjust his position. He drifted between her legs, placing the right one over his shoulder to give him better reach and planting a quick kiss behind her knee.

“Now, let's put these perfect legs of yours to good use, shall we?”


End file.
